Merry Christmas, Baby
by TotallyUtterlySherlocked
Summary: 'tis the season to be jolly. John has no reason to be happy. But after Sherlock jumped 3 years ago, John decides it's time to do something about it. So he writes a letter. Advent!fic, post-Reichenbach pre-reunion ignoring all of season 3. Eventual Johnlock!
1. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

**A/N: I think I should just accept the fact that any advent!fic I attempt will be posted a day late. I'm sorry, I was so exhausted last night I just did school work and slept. BUT NOT TONIGHT, FRIENDS. Tonight you get two for the price of one due to my epic fail last night.**

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><p>Three years. It had been three, long, painful years.<p>

He wasn't sure why, on tonight of all nights, he needed to 'write out his anger" as Ella had suggested.

"Maybe it's the spirit of the season," John muttered sarcastically, opening up a new document and starting to write.

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><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_You complete and utter cock. What the hell have you done to me? I'm writing this letter to a dead man; and it had to be you. It's always been you though._

_Wait a minute. I'm getting ahead of myself._

_I'm pissed at you, in case you can't deduce it. God, now I'm talking about you in the present tense. I'm losing my mind here, now you're gone._

_Goddammit, you could have at least told me what was going on. I could have helped. You gave Moriarty _exactly_ what he wanted. I think that's what bothers me the most. You were always on the side fighting him, then you became like the bombing victims; reading from a damned teleprompter like a good little soldier._

_That is not the Sherlock Holmes I remember. The Sherlock Holmes I remember nearly killed a man who hurt his landlady. The Sherlock Holmes I remember resisted arrest because he _knew _he was right._

_I've started decorating the flat for Christmas. God, you'd hate it. Most of it's sentimental; ornaments my mum and dad gave me as a kid, fairy lights, that sort of thing._

_It certainly looks more...festive in here now, but it doesn't feel right. Something is missing. Not even a something, a someone. The fact that we'll never have another disastrous Christmas party is making me more angry than I thought, because it reminds me of how unfair this whole thing is._

_I want to tell you that it's your fault because you chose to jump. That you did nothing but prove Moriarty right, that you're _ordinary_. But it isn't your fault._

_Not really._

_It's Moriarty's fault. It's Scotland Yard's. It's most certainly Anderson and Donovan's fault._

_I think some of it is also my fault. I desperately want to take back those last words. I can't. And I'm sorry for that._

_I always will be,_

_John_


	2. Hark! How the Bells

**A/N: Don't ask me why I went back to pre-season 3. It felt right.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Please don't sue me**

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><p>He was free. He wasn't sure how long it had taken him to escape, but he'd gotten out of the torture chamber he'd been trapped in for...days? Weeks? Months? He wasn't sure of that either.<p>

Sherlock knew he should be concerned about this, but instead he trudged onward until he found the best shelter he could in the rolling hills of the country side: a cottage.

Lucky for him no one was at home. He sighed in relief as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him. The room was, at best...quaint. At worst?

It was barren and devoid of any semblance of interest. In one corner was a wooden bed with what appeared to be handmade coverings. Against another wall was a small kitchen with a refrigerator and gas stove. Across from the kitchen was a wooden desk and chair, and there was a sheet of paper and pen atop the desk.

Sherlock was not prone to pangs of feeling. So the sudden desire to write a letter, to one person in particular, startled him enough to rouse him from his spot in front of the door and to drive him to sit at the desk.

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><p><em>John,<em>

_I'm sorry does not even begin to describe how I feel regarding my supposed death. If I could have avoided it I would have, but I didn't have that option. I had to keep all of you safe from him._

_I hope that by the time you read this I will be back home in 221B, but if I am unable to return...just, please, please know that I am sorry. I will never do anything like this again...well, I suppose I can't promise you that. Your safety is much more useful than mine._

_After all, everyone needs a doctor. How many really need a consulting detective?_

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN Thank you for reading! Please review and... **

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	3. We Need a Little Christmas Now

**A/N: I finally caught up! It only took two extra days, so...yay? I think this story is going to be a LOT of fun for me to write, mostly because I love Christmas time so much. Please, please review and tell me what you think!  
><strong>

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything. Nada. Please don't sue me!**

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><p>He found himself humming Christmas tunes under his breath. It didn't feel right but he couldn't help it. It was EVERYWHERE he went. The shops, work, even Mrs. Hudson was playing them (what felt like) almost 247.

All he wanted was some respite from the unrelenting positivity, the love songs, the _joy_. What happened to him?

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Sherlock was gone. The nightmares always reminded him though.

A few days later he'd had an appointment with Ella. She was pleased that he had written Sherlock a letter, though when she asked if she could see it, John felt guilty.

He didn't dare tell her that he'd placed the envelope against Sherlock's headstone, and he didn't dare tell her that he planned to leave another this very day.

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><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_I still don't know why I'm writing to you. It's not like I'm going to get an answer, or see you again. Maybe I'm just trying to make myself feel better._

_Whatever it is, I think it might be helping. Last time I wrote you I didn't have a single nightmare for days, but now they're back. I should do an experiment; see how long the nightmares stay away after I leave this letter by your grave.  
><em>

_God that last word was hard to write. Ella told me it was important to get my feelings out, but I feel more like a rambling, incoherent mess versus a psychologist's patient who's trying to process his feelings._

_Maybe I'll get better at it, since right now I'm imagining the look of horror on your face as you read this, and I quote,"drivel". Lucky you're not here to read it._

_Sorry. Didn't mean it like that._

_I hope you _can _read this wherever you are. It makes me feel better to act like you can._

_Hope everything is okay on your end_

_John_

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><p><strong>AN: Please review! Thank you for reading and...**

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	4. Santa Claus is Comin' to Town

**A/N: The days are going by so quickly, guys! 21 days 'til Christmas, WHO'S EXCITED?**

**MEEEEE!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything, nope, nothing. Please don't sue me! **

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><p>He was safe now. He'd found Mycroft's safe house and he was perfectly fine.<p>

It was hard to keep himself from flinching at every little noise. His senses seemed heightened from his time spent evading capture, and now he couldn't shut them off. It made deductions that much harder since he couldn't filter out the excess information.

He suddenly remembered the peace he'd found when he wrote a letter to John back in the small cabin. After a bit of hunting (for a safe house it was bloody huge), he found a small study, which he found stocked with paper and pens.

Silently, Sherlock wondered if Mycroft was watching him.

He suddenly found he didn't care.

He also didn't particularly care that he started to hum Christmas carols under his breath as his pen scratched across the paper.

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><p><em>John,<em>

_I'm almost done here. I've been taking out some of the men who are highest in Moriarty's convoluted hierarchy. Tedious, really. I don't even know why Moriarty would have hired these morons. They're so stupid they couldn't even tell I was faking their ridiculous Russian accents._

_This isn't very easy to tell you, but...I miss you, John. I miss our late night chases and nights of bad takeaway._

_I miss having a friend in the middle of something like this. Something tragic and ugly, and something that never should have happened. I should have told you what was going on, and why I had to jump._

_I regret the pain I'm putting you through trying to save your life. I don't know if you'll be able to understand my reasoning, but I hope that one day, you will._

_I also hope that someday you'll forgive me for everything I have done._

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you so much for reading! Please review and...**

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	5. Tidings of Comfort and Joy

**A/N: It's the weekend finally! I'm hoping to be able to post chapters a bit earlier but we'll see how it goes. Don't kill me if I post late.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything mentioned in this story, promise! Please don't sue me.**

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><p>"John dear, is everything all right? You've been sitting there all day."<p>

Mrs. Hudson's voice startled him. Hers was the only voice he'd heard that day; he hadn't made a sound since he woke that morning.

"Yeah," He spoke now, voice slightly rough from disuse.

She bustled into the sitting room and examined him with a loving (albeit critical), maternal sort of look. "No." She took a seat across from him, reaching out and taking his hand in hers. "Now John, I know things have been hard these last few months."

_Yeah,_ he thought. _That's an understatement right there. _Instead, he simply nodded.

"We all miss him," she continued. "And we all wish he was still here." Here Mrs. Hudson had to pause, sniffle a bit, and wipe her eyes. "But he wouldn't want to see you lock yourself away from the world. Sherlock wouldn't dare let you."

For the first time in a long time, John smiled. A genuine smile, one borne of happiness instead of one so fake even he saw through it.

"You're right," he said quietly. "It's just so hard to see the world without him."

She nodded, wisely. "I know it is. You can make the world a better place, though, now he's gone. Create something he'd be proud of, John."

So that evening, after she left for a dose of her "herbal soothers", John sat down to write another letter to a dead man.

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><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_I didn't leave the flat today. In the last few months I haven't left the flat much at all really, but today was...bad. Mrs. Hudson had to come up and give me a pep talk._

_She told me that I needed to make you proud. I don't know if I can, but I guess I had better try. I owe it to you._

_I never told you this (add it to my list of regrets), but you saved my life, Sherlock. I was a few days and a glass of whiskey away from ending up in that grave. The least I can do is try to keep your memory alive._

_Tomorrow I'm going to call Greg and see if he still wants me to help him. He'd ask me, in those first few months, but I could barely function, let alone become a consulting detective overnight. Now, I think I might be ready. _

_London misses you, mate._

_John_

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you very much for reading! Please review and...**

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	6. I Wish With All My Might

**A/N: I'M DROWNING IN MY OWN FEELS I'M SO SORRY FRIENDS. I didn't intend for this to get as sad and depressing as it's turned out, :(**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing in this story. Please don't sue me!**

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><p>"This is ridiculous," he hissed into the disposable cell phone he held to his ear.<p>

"It's our only option," Mycroft replied, sounding just as irritated. "Do you really think, if we had any other choice, that I'd allow you to go in there, alone?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, intending to say something caustic, then shut it. "No," he said, grudgingly. "I suppose not."

"Good. Do be careful, brother dear." The line went dead.

He took a deep breath, then tossed the phone into the woods and made his way into the thicket of trees.

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><p>When he staggered into the helicopter Mycroft sent later that night, he was shaking all over. The sun was peeking over the horizon, and though he was bone tired, the adrenaline spiking in his veins kept him from sleep. Instead, he frantically pulled a notepad and pen out of his coat pocket and started to write.<p>

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><p><em>John,<em>

_I know where Moran is. He almost killed me, but he didn't. God I need to sleep._

_I'm shaking so hard I can barely hold the pen but I need to tell you how badly I want to come home. How badly I _need _to come home._

_As much as I complained about boredom with no cases back in London, I'd trade the past 3 years of constant work for just one hour of peace and domesticity. _

_It's snowing here now. As foolish as it seems, it does make me think of Christmas and of wishes coming true. I only have one wish, and if I wished any harder I'd collapse._

_My one wish is be home, with you, by Christmas._

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN: Short one and a day late, I'm sorry! Thank you for reading! Please review and...**

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	7. A Blue, Blue, Blue, Blue Christmas

**A/N: CUE MORE SAP. APPARENTLY I'M FULL OF TEARS I'M SO SORRY.  
><strong>

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these poor, poor people. If I did THE EMPTY HEARSE WOULD'VE HAD MANY LESS TEARS. Please do not sue me.**

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><p>John's visit to Scotland Yard had been disastrous.<p>

No, that wasn't hyperbole. It was actually the most horrific experience he'd had since Sherlock's funeral.

When he'd first arrived, he almost turned right around and left, because the first person to greet him? Anderson.

Fucking.

Anderson.

When he spotted John it looked like his eyes would bug out of his head. "John," he said, far too loudly.

"Anderson," John muttered, brushing past him without making eye contact.

As if on cue, Sally appeared from Greg's office. _This just keeps getting better_, he thought bitterly.

"John?" She peered at him curiously, as if she'd never seen him before.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "It's me."

"Almost didn't recognize you without the Freak." Her tone was perfectly casual, and it took all of John's concentration not to strangle her.

"How dare you," he said, voice deadly calm. "_Never _speak to me again." Now he turned on Anderson. "If I see _you_ again, I will punch you in your little rat face."

Without another word, he walked out of Scotland Yard.

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><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_I'm such a bloody coward. I went to Scotland Yard today intending to talk to Greg about starting to pick up cases but I couldn't do it. Anderson and Donovan...greeted me, and after what Sally said, I about killed the both of them._

_So I walked out. Like a coward._

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be brave enough to face them. I hope I'll be able to, eventually, but something about them just pissed me off. Might've been the complete lack of remorse. _

_Everything is just so raw right now. Maybe it'll go better after the holidays._

_God, I hope so. For both our sake's._

_John_

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you for reading! Please review and...  
><strong>

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	8. All I Want For Christmas Is You

**A/N: I WAS SO TIRED LAST NIGHT GUYS. I'm sorry for not posting last night but the chapter would've sucked.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Nothing at all, nope, not me. Please don't sue me!**

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><p>He was so close to heading home that it was driving him insane. All he wanted was his armchair, tea and toast in the mornings, and John.<p>

More than anything, he wanted John.

In these moments of solitude he'd wonder if he was in love with his best friend. Then Mycroft would tell him to "quit moping about like a lovesick teenage girl", smirk, and move on.

It made Sherlock feel better to flip his brother off in these times.

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><p><em>John,<em>

_I have always been warned that my preference for bluntness makes me seem uncaring and detached. I think you will disagree in this instance._

_I am in love with you._

_I don't know if you reciprocate my feelings; even if you feel otherwise, I felt I must tell you before the feelings consume me entirely._

_Mycroft is already driving me mad by accusing me of acting like a young child with an infatuated obsession. He's quite lucky both England and I need him; I may have strangled him by now._

_The snow is heavy here, and it is making me more nostalgic than I anticipated. I hope I will be home before Christmas. I want to tell you, in person, how I feel.  
><em>

_It's not like I'm sending this letter anyway._

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you for reading! Please review and...**

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	9. Kisser, What's For Me?

**A/N: IT'S ALMOST CHRISTMAS YOU GUYS. I'M SO EXCITED. It's seriously my favorite holiday I love it so so so much you don't understand.  
><strong>

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of this stuff. Please, please don't sue me. A lawsuit would be the worst Christmas gift.**

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><p>The date did not go well. John expected this.<p>

He expected awkward silences. There were none.

He expected he wouldn't dare bring up Sherlock. He did.

He expected to be the quiet one. He wasn't.

By the time his date left, he'd learned several things about himself. He was done grieving, he could talk about Sherlock, and most unexpected of all...

John Watson was _in love_ with Sherlock Holmes.

The instant he got back to the flat, he took a hot shower to try and get some clarity into his thoughts. He found this to be very unhelpful.

So John picked up a pen.

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><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_You've ruined another date for me. And you're not even alive for it. I couldn't stop talking about you tonight; it was like I had diarrhea of the mouth, but not everything in my brain made it out. _

_Just the thoughts about you._

_Now I know the first time we met I told you I wasn't gay. I'm not. But I think I can now safely admit that I'm not exactly straight either._

_This is your fault, so you know._

_I'll never send this, but I wish I could. I wish you could read it and tell me how _you _feel. You never will._

_I wish for a lot of things, the only thing I wish now is very simple._

_Don't be dead any more._

_John_

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you so much for reading! Please review and...**

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	10. That's What Christmas Means to Me

**A/N: I'm having too much with this story, really I am.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters, songs, situations, or places in this story. Please don't sue me!**

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><p>It was nearly time for his final kill. He thought of it that way to seem more predatory, more like Moran. Sherlock knew Moriarty called him 'Tiger'.<p>

Mycroft was testing him several times a day; his reflexes, negotiation skills, firearms.

No matter how hard he tried, he never could make the shot John did on their first case. He convinced himself it was because he lacked the experience handling a gun.

He knew it was because he wasn't _John_. He was doing this for the doctor though, so he practiced daily for hours upon hours. Finally, he could hit the target with around a 90% accuracy rating, consistently.

Mycroft didn't think it was good enough, but Sherlock told him, simply, to "shove it up his pompous arsehole".

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><p><em>John,<em>

_Mycroft is "putting me through my paces", as you might say in your ridiculous blog. I am working with him every day; without warning he might ask me to roleplay with myself as a negotiator and he as the perpetrator._

_Yes, it is in fact as awkward as it sounds.  
><em>

_I will need this training if I hope to take down Moran, however. I suppose I ought to be grateful to Mycroft. He has done a lot these past few years, and a lot of it (training me for instance) he didn't need to do._

_Maybe Mycroft isn't so bad._

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you so much for reading! Please review and...**

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	11. Christmases When You Were Mine

**A/N: I keep getting behind, D: I'm taking online classes and trying to work on them, write this story, and have some SEMBLANCE of free time. I'm so sorry for not posting every day, though I do try to make up for it!**

**DISCLAIMER: I really don't own anything in this story; not the characters, the settings, events, nor even the songs I use for titles. Lawsuits make sad gifts, so please don't sue me!**

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><p>It was a long, <em>long<em> day at the surgery.

Christmas seemed to bring out the stupidity in the people of London; Christmas tree incidents (John didn't know there were that many place for pine needles to be embedded in the human body), accidents involving exterior lights and ladders (the man was lucky he'd only fractured his wrist and ankle), and cookie mishaps (how do you even manage to get a second degree burn on your elbow?).

Through all the chaos of the afternoon, John found his thoughts circling back to the one thing he'd spent years trying to repress.

Sherlock.

Ever since he'd started writing the letters, the thoughts had become more frequent. It didn't bother him anymore, but today the thoughts came to his mind more often than they had all week. He wondered why, but let the matter go.

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><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_You were right all along: London is full of idiots. I wish you'd been by the surgery today; you would have had a field day making deductions about my patients._

_Maybe if you'd been here my thoughts could have stayed focused on my work. But you're gone, and they didn't._

_They kept coming back to you, time and time again. It seemed like today the universe was insisting I keep my brain focused on you. I can't think if today was some kind of bizarre anniversary; a big case we solved, or something to do with Moriarty? I'll check my blog later and see if I can find anything._

_I kept thinking about all the mad things you made us do; one of the biggest ones was the Hat. Yeah, the death frisbee hat._

_I never did put it in the donation box. Maybe I will._

_Not today though._

_John_

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you so much for reading! Reviews, unlike lawsuits, are wonderful gifts, so please leave one in that box down below, and...**

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	12. Peace on Earth and Mercy Mild

**A/N: I finish my classes on Monday, so after that expect daily postings! If I don't post daily, you all have full permission to beat me down if you meet me in person, deal?**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own a single little solitary thing. Please don't sue me!**

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><p>Sherlock had decided he'd lost his mind. He was beginning to have just the slightest bit of sympathy for Sebastian Moran.<p>

Yeah. THAT Sebastian Moran.

It happened all at once. He was just reading some intel on that sneaky bastard when he happened upon a photo from the sniper's much younger days. Moran was innocent then; he didn't know he'd grow up to be under the thumb of one of the world's most prolific crime lords.

And Sherlock felt bad for him.

Moran had had a rough upbringing: he'd lost his mother at a very young age, and his father was both mentally and physically abusive. He'd ended up in hospital with unexplained injuries more times than Sherlock cared to count.

The photo was of Moran, just as he was about to be deployed to the British Army. He was not smiling, but instead he stood, expressionless.

Sherlock thought he saw a bit of himself in Moran's deadened eyes.

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><p><em>John,<em>

_My feelings of sentiment are growing more unbearable by the day. Today I felt the strongest sense of sympathy I've ever felt for another human being. This is a cause for alarm in and of itself, but the most horrifying part is who the human being was._

_It was Sebastian Moran._

_His past could be mine if you changed a few names and gave him a pompous, smug arsehole as a brother. I am afraid now, that when I finally get my opportunity to end this, that I will look into his eyes and see myself. I know that if that happens, I will not shoot him. Killing Moran is the only way Moriarty's reign of terror will end. _

_I'd best start hardening my heart again._

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN: Well that got more into Moran's past than I anticipated. Oops. Thank you so so much for reading! Please review and...**

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	13. Santa Baby

**A/N: Just finished up my Christmas list; now it's time for MORE ADVENT!FIC. Awwww yeeeeaaah.**

**DISCLAIMER: Nothing in this story belongs to me at all. I just use their stuff because it's awesome and fun to mess with. Please don't sue me!**

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><p>He didn't want to go. He really, really didn't want to go shopping for gifts this year.<p>

John hated shopping as it was, but this year the whole thing just seemed...pointless. He wasn't sure why; Sherlock had been dead for three years. He blamed it on the letters.

After the first two, he'd stopped leaving them on Sherlock's grave, instead keeping them safely in the shoe box in his closet where he kept his dog tags. It seemed more appropriate to store them somewhere than to leave them exposed to the elements.

Eventually he did make it out to the shops, and he found it was actually not as bad as he had anticipated. He bought Mrs. Hudson a lovely purple scarf, and Harry a t-shirt that said, simply, 'Stay Strong'.

It was when he was walking through Harrods that he saw it.

A coat. Not just any coat, mind, but _the _coat.

He bought it faster than he had ever bought anything in his entire life.

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><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_I bought a coat today. It was yours._

_No, I mean, it wasn't _actually _yours, but it was exactly the same, minus all the stains yours had. Unfortunately they never really did manage to get the blood out._

_I don't know exactly why I bought it. I put it in your room. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be; going in there._

_I didn't go in there very often when you were alive, maybe that's why it didn't bother me._

_The coat looks right though. It's got a proper home now._

_I wish you were here to see it._

_John_

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><p><strong>AN: THIS WILL GET HAPPY EVENTUALLY. I HOPE AT LEAST. Thank you so much for reading! Please review and...  
><strong>

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	14. To Save Me From Tears

**A/N: ALMOST DONE WITH SCHOOL WORK PRAISE THE LORD. I'm so done you guys. I mean, I know I need to do more classes in the spring but a few weeks off is going to be SO nice right about now. I can finally do things (like work on this story) without feeling horrible guilt because I really should be doing something else.**

**DISCLAIMER: I promise that I don't own anything in this story at all. Please don't sue me!**

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><p>"Caring is not an advantage, brother dear. I suggest you remember that before you get yourself killed...though, John would never know the difference. Pity."<p>

Mycroft left the room without a glance behind him.

If he had, he would have seen Sherlock with his fists clenched tightly behind his back. He likely would have overlooked the redness around the detective's eyes.

Sherlock was absolutely _furious_. He had made the mistake of sharing his trepidations about killing Moran with Mycroft, and Mycroft had reacted...exactly as he usually would have. It seemed his sympathy was affecting his usual intellectual capacity. Some other part of his mind quietly reminded him that insanity was doing the same thing, over and over, and expecting different results.

In spite of himself, he smiled just a little. He was absolutely _mad_ if he thought he could change his older brother. The Ice Man he was, the Ice Man he would stay.

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><p><em>John,<em>

_I really am losing myself. I decided to tell Mycroft about my fears over shooting Moran. He was absolutely furious. He told me that I was letting my heart take over my brain. He thought it would be insulting. It was, in fact, quite the opposite._

_I find myself becoming kinder, more sympathetic as of late. I don't know if it's the holiday season, or if it's the knowledge that soon enough, I will be home at Baker Street once again. Personally I think it's the latter.  
><em>

_My hope is that you will be able to recognize me, as for once, I hope this kindness is not merely a fleeting trait. I do plan to confess my feelings for you as soon as I return, and I will make you one promise._

_As long as we both live, I will NEVER hurt you again._

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN: I can't even tell if this is happy or sad any more. Thank you so much for reading! Please review and...**

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	15. Christmas Don't Be Late

**A/N: ALMOST DONE WITH SCHOOL PRAISE THE LAWD. I only have one more final and that's it. Hallelujah. After tomorrow I will hopefully post sooner in the day but we shall see what happens.**

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING. Seriously. Please don't sue me!**

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><p>John felt like this Christmas was something...magical. Something more. He felt like this was the Christmas when miracles could happen.<p>

He tried to keep this in mind in the moments he felt most hopeless. The latest was when he was walking home from the Tube station and he saw a young couple kiss under the mistletoe.

It suddenly felt like his heart was being squeezed by a vice. He stopped and exhaled sharply.

By the time he got to the front door, he was smiling.

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><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_Ella's going to have to add 'delusional' to my list of diagnoses. Today I think I might have actually dissociated._

_There was this couple walking down the street, and they got under the mistletoe that's hanging in front of Speedy's, and of course they kissed. It upset me because, well..._

_That should be _us_, Sherlock._

_So I decided to imagine it _was _us. And you know, it did make me feel better. I'm trying to believe in magic right now. I know I told you that my only wish was for you not to be dead any more._

_I've changed my mind. I have a new wish._

_Come back to me._

_John_

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><p><strong>AN: It's a short one tonight guys, I'm sorry. Thank you so much for reading! Please review and...**

**DFTBA darlings, :)**


	16. Do They Know It's Christmas?

**A/N: I don't think this is getting any happier. I'm really sorry guys, I am apparently just very angst-filled.**

**DISCLAIMER: Nothing in this story belongs to me. I hope you don't think I write ****_Sherlock_****. Please don't sue me!**

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure if Mycroft was even aware that Christmas existed. The elder Holmes was no kinder and no more generous. He was only focused on the eventual death of Sebastian Moran, which was weighing heavily on Sherlock's mind as well.<p>

He tried not to let it consume him, but the thoughts kept creeping in, despite his best efforts.

Eventually he got frustrated and decided to conduct an experiment. Every time he thought about pulling the trigger and seeing a spatter of blood and brain matter at the other end of the gun, he consciously replaced the thought with a thought of John. After a while, he did it automatically.

By the end of the day, all thoughts of Sebastian Moran had ceased to exist.

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><p><em>John,<br>_

_The nerves are starting to get to me, I fear. I keep worrying that I'll miss his head and he'll kill me, or that I'll serve merely to incapacitate him and allow Mycroft to dispose of him.  
><em>

_I have made it perfectly clear to my brother, several times, that Moran is _mine_._

_To get rid of the thoughts I tried to replace them with ones of you, or you and I. Mostly just you. It relaxed me enough to allow me a bit of respite from the panic that has been trying to eat me alive all this time._

_It's always you, John._

_Always._

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN: SO MANY FEELS I AM THE WORST HUMAN. Thank you so much for reading! Please review and...**

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	17. Shall Yourselves Find Blessing

**A/N: I'm running out of titles you guys. I have some for the few days before Christmas, but it's these lead-ups that are so difficult!**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing in this story. I mean, I DO own the plot because, you know, it's fan fiction and everything. Please don't sue me!  
><strong>

* * *

><p>It was the last day that John had to work before he was off for the holidays. He wasn't sure if he was grateful or not.<p>

On the one hand, it meant no more trying to convince patients with the flu that they weren't dying of something like a brain tumor.

But on the other hand, it meant that he had far too much time on his hands to think about things. By things, he meant Sherlock, his death, Moriarty...the whole shit storm.

He stopped to buy some more lined paper before got home. He knew he'd need it.

* * *

><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_I'm done with work until the 26th. Thank Christ; I thought I was going to go berserk on this teenage girl earlier. She was complaining of some mild flu like symptoms, and seemed to be convinced she was dying of cholera. Orr maybe she said brain tumor, I had too many like her today._

_It made me realize how much people take their lives and health for granted. I also realized that I used to be one of those people. Now it disgusts me that I could ever be that careless. _

_You were like that too. I always told you that you weren't just "transport" for that big brain of yours. I know you believed that, but I am positively certain you were not._

_I wish I had told you that, before._

_I'm saying it now; you were...absolutely amazing._

_I miss you._

_John_

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><p><strong>AN: THE FEELS Y'ALL. THE FEEEEEEEEELS. Thank you so much for reading! Please review and...**

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	18. Joyful and Triumphant

**A/N: I'M ALMOST ON CHRISTMAS BREAK. I mean I'm done with college classes, but it's confusing ok. Life is weird.**

**DISCLAIMER: Nothing in this story belongs to me. I don't own any of it. Please don't sue me!**

* * *

><p>It was time. Sherlock was about to finish what he had started three years ago. He was absolutely terrified.<p>

But he was ready; ready for this nightmare to end, ready to go home. Ready to go home to John.

Unfortunately, getting home wouldn't be as easy as he wanted it to be. He had to actually kill Moran first.

* * *

><p>The fear he'd been living with for weeks spiked when he saw Moran. The sniper opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of Sherlock's gun firing.<p>

Half of his mouth was still open when the smoke cleared.

* * *

><p><em>John,<br>_

_It's done. It's over. He's dead. I'm coming home, John.  
><em>

_Home. What a beautiful word. I am exhausted and yet I am too wired to sleep. I suspect it's the adrenaline. I thought writing might help.  
><em>

_It's not, really, just making me more excited. Soon I will be home, with you.  
><em>

_You will never be alone, when I come back._

_I will never leave you again._

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN: THEY GET TO MEET SOON YAY BBYS. Thank you so much for reading! Please review and...**

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	19. Zat You, Santa Claus?

**A/N: My mind didn't want to do story yesterday, but today I feel really Christmas-sy sooo yeah.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing at all in this story. Please don't sue me!**

* * *

><p>Mycroft was making John suspicious. Well. More suspicious than usual, that is.<p>

John had mentioned the coat to him, and Mycroft had given him a surprised look. The kind of look Mycroft usually gave him when he was surprised that John had shown some level of intelligence and competence.

"What?" John asked, now looking confused.

Mycroft shook his head. "Nothing, John. It's just that...well, I'm glad you're finally _moving on_, as they say."

Something about Mycroft's tone was off. He was usually hiding things from John, but this seemed like he was hiding something bigger. But John decided not to press it.

At least, not right at this moment.

* * *

><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_Your brother is going to drive me mad. He's hiding something, I think, but I don't know what._

_I told him about that coat I bought a while ago, and he seemed almost pleased about it. It was what he didn't say that bothered me._

_He just told me he was glad I'd moved on. He seemed a little sad about it, which I thought was kind of weird. _

_I don't know, your brother is mysterious and cryptic._

_Makes me wish you were here to yell at him for me._

_John_

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you for reading! Please review and...**

**DFTBA darlings, :)**


	20. But the Prettiest Sight to See

**A/N: 5 DAYS LEFT. Oh, the boys are going to be reunited it's going to be so great. OR WILL IT? *dramatic music*.**

**Nah, I'm kidding. It'll be great.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own none of this. Please don't sue me!**

* * *

><p>"John bought <em>what<em>?"

"A coat," replied Mycroft. "A coat that is an exact replica of your own. Rather, the one you used to own before it was destroyed." His voice was flat, toneless.

Sherlock sighed. "I wish you hadn't burned it," he said, sounding a little sad.

Mycroft frowned at him. "I had to. It made you stick out like a sore thumb. Unless you had a death wish, brother mine, I had to destroy it."

The detective rolled his eyes. "Rhetorical question, Mycroft. You will always have the last word, won't you?" He stood up and walked out of the room.

Very quietly, Mycroft whispered "Yes."

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><p><em>John,<em>

_I never told you, but...Mycroft had my coat destroyed. After I fell, he thought it would make me too conspicuous, so he burned it and scattered the ashes. He just told me you bought what amounts to an exact replica.  
><em>

_I don't think I've been this happy since I left you. This is the greatest gift you could ever have given me. I know you don't know I'm even alive yet, but it will be nice to come home to._

_Thank you. So much._

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you for reading! Please review and...**

**DFTBA darlings, :)**


	21. You're a Mean One, Mr Grinch

**A/N: I FUCKED UP I FUCKED UP. I accidentally posted 2 Sherlock chapters in a row, so let me rectify it right now! I'M SORRY FRIENDS.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own literally nothing at all. Please do not sue me.**

* * *

><p>John had been eating bad Chinese when the doorbell rang. He paused for a minute, waiting to see if Mrs. Hudson would get it. When she didn't, he sighed, but got up and went downstairs. Slowly, he opened the door.<p>

"_We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!"_

He couldn't help but smile. A group of four kids, the oldest of who looked no older than 8, was standing at the front door, in their coats and hats, and they were _caroling_. John thought that caroling had gone out of fashion in his childhood.

When the children finished, he dug in his pockets until he came up with enough pence to give the kids fifty pence. They grinned at him. "Thank you," the youngest boy said shyly, before they ran off. "Happy Christmas!" John called. In the distance he heard a "Happy Christmas!" in return.

* * *

><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_A group of carolers stopped by today. They were actually cute kids. I tipped them, even though they didn't ask for it. I felt like they deserved it. They brightened my evening._

_This year I haven't been in much of the holiday spirit. I've seen no reason for it. Seeing those kids tonight helped though. Made me remember the good feelings Christmas brings. _

_I'll try hard to remember those feelings the rest of the season. It's going to be hard; not having you here. These letters are like talking to you, and it makes it seem much more real. You're gone. I'm still here._

_God, that's not fair._

_John_

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><p><strong>AN: There we go, much better. Thank you so much for reading! Please review and...**

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	22. I Wish I Were With You

**A/N: I have the last three days of titles planned, so today and tomorrow's titles might suck. A lot. I'll do my best but really, there aren't as many Christmas carols as you would think, honestly.**

**DISCLAIMER: Don't think I own any of this. I don't. Seriously. Please don't sue me.**

* * *

><p>"When can I go home?" Sherlock asked, for the 508th time today.<p>

Mycroft was counting. "When I've cleared everything up in London." He answered, not looking up from the files he was reading.

"How long will that take?" The detective demanded. Also for the 508th time.

"As long as it takes," his brother replied. Astoundingly, he didn't sound as annoyed as Sherlock expected him to. Sherlock suspected it was because Mycroft was relieved that the detective would soon be out of his hair.

No, not really. Mycroft knew how...difficult Sherlock and John's reunion would be, and it pained him. He'd delayed as long as possible now, though.

"Trust in me, brother dear," he said quietly. "You will be home with your doctor by Christmas."

* * *

><p><em>John,<em>

_I will be home by Christmas, if Mycroft is to be believed. I don't know if I do believe him, but I want to. I want to believe my older brother more than I've wanted anything else._

_No, that's not right. I want to come home to you more. I want you to share my feelings, and I want us to be happy. I hope you will be happy when I return.  
><em>

_I know you'll be angry, with good reason, but I also hope you'll be able to understand my reasons._

_I only want one thing for Christmas this year._

_Your forgiveness.  
><em>

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you so so much for reading! Please review (they make me so happy) and...**

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	23. Baby, Please Come Home

**A/N: I'm pre-writing all of these chapters as I likely won't have any/much computer access the next few days. I'M WRITING YOU FROM THE PAST. WHOOOOO *ghost noises***

**DISCLAIMER: Please don't sue me because of this story. I don't own anything at all.**

* * *

><p>Mrs. Hudson was baking downstairs, and damn it all if John hadn't popped into her flat at least a half dozen times today. He was trying to <em>lose<em> the bit of fat he'd managed to get during his down time.

Apparently running after criminals was very good cardio.

He was just coming up the stairs, munching off the head of a gingerbread man, when he saw Mycroft through the front door. "What have I told you," he began as he walked in. "About just...wandering in? Just because you have a key, Mycroft, doesn't mean you're always welcome."

John almost burst out laughing, because Mycroft's eyes were trained solely on the now headless gingerbread man in his hand. "Mycroft,"

Blinking, Mycroft came back to himself. "Ah, yes, John." He smiled. "I was wondering if, perhaps, seeing as neither have us have family in London at the moment...would you terribly mind if I popped by for Christmas dinner?"

* * *

><p><em>Sherlock,<em>

_Your brother is the giddy limit. He just invited himself to Christmas dinner. I wasn't even planning on _having _Christmas dinner._

_Well now I am. With Mycroft. Jesus what have I done...  
><em>

_I wish you were going to be here. You could figure out how to change the locks or something so he couldn't get in. He is not the Holmes I want to spend Christmas with. You are._

_Please come home._

_John_

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><p><strong>AN: INTENSE FEELS. also cuteness bc mycroft's being a butt-hole. Thank you for reading! Please review and...**

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	24. I'll Be Home for Christmas

**A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE FRIENDS. I hope you enjoy the holiday, and if you don't celebrate it, have an awesome day anyway!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything in this story. Please do not sue me, that would make me very very sad.**

* * *

><p>"You...invited yourself to Christmas dinner?"<p>

Mycroft nodded. "Yes. I won't show up, of course. John wouldn't want _me _there." When Sherlock gave him a confused look, the elder Holmes sighed heavily. "He wants you," he said slowly, as though talking to a small child.

The look of realization on Sherlock's face was priceless.

"He thinks I'm dead," the detective protested. "I don't think showing up tomorrow is the best idea,"

Mycroft met his gaze. "And do you have any better ideas, brother dear? Tomorrow is Christmas. A time for _miracles_," he practically spat the last word out of his mouth like it tasted bad.

"Maybe..." Sherlock murmured, still looking dubious.

"Trust me," With that, Mycroft gathered up the papers he'd been studying, and he left the room, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.

* * *

><p><em>John,<em>

_I have kept my promise. I will be home for Christmas this year._

_No words have ever sounded better. _

_I am prepared for you to be angry with me. Mycroft seems to think everything will work out, but he's not very good at reading people's emotions, now, is he? _

_He did set you up. I'm very sorry. I would like to say I didn't know, but I did._

_I needed some kind of...pretense, a reason to appear on your doorstep. Now I have one._

_I have never been more excited in my life._

_Sherlock_

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><p><strong>AN: Enjoy your Christmas eve, my dears. Thank you for reading! Please review and...**

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	25. War is Over

**A/N: I'M SO SORRY YOU GUYS. I was super busy this last week and spent the weekend recovering BUT I AM BACK FOR THE FINAL INSTALLMENT OF THIS FIC.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any part of this story except the plot. Everything else belongs to the BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. Please don't sue me!**

* * *

><p>John had just poked his head inside the oven to check on the turkey breast when the doorbell rang. "Just a moment," he called, straightening up and shutting the oven door.<p>

_Leave it to Mycroft,_ he thought as he made his way to the door. _To not only invite himself to dinner, but to arrive to said dinner..._ John glanced at his watch and rolled his eyes. _A full hour early_.

He was dressed in one of his mum's hand knitted jumpers; this one a crimson red with white detailing along the neck and bottom hem line. When he opened the door, John was briefly speechless.

When he _did_ manage to speak, all that came out was "You're not Mycroft."

Sherlock smiled a little and shook his head. "No," he replied.

John blinked a few times. "I'm in a horrific looking jumper."

The detective laughed at this. "Yes,"

Eventually, something like anger came into John's eyes. "You're dead."

Now Sherlock looked embarrassed. "No."

Sherlock didn't see John's fist coming until it collided with his nose.

* * *

><p>After the bleeding stopped (pretty quickly, thankfully) and Sherlock attempted to explain himself, John began to angrily set the kitchen table for two.<p>

"Three years!" He set down their plates so violently they almost shattered.

"I'm sorry John," said Sherlock, suddenly sounding very very small and far too young. "I would have told you, somehow, but it wasn't safe."

"Safe for whom?" BANG! That would be the turkey.

"Either of us!" Suddenly Sherlock bolted up and toward the door. When he returned he was carrying a cardboard box full of paper. He thrust it out to John.

Looking suspicious, John selected a paper at random and read it quickly. His mouth dropped open, and he shoved the paper back into the box and disappeared up the stairs. He returned carrying a similar box.

Sherlock took a paper and read it. He smiled a little. When he looked up, John looked ashamed of himself.

"Sorry I hit you," the doctor said, now putting down the silverware much more gently.

"I deserved it," said Sherlock quietly. "I love you, you know."

John swallowed hard. "You read that one?"

The detective shook his head. "It's obvious in your body lang-"

He was swiftly cut off when John pressed his lips firmly to Sherlock's own.

When they finally pulled away for air, Sherlock looked up. He looked at John and arched an eyebrow. "Mistletoe, John? _Really_?"

John turned back to the table, smiling.

"Happy Christmas, you bastard."

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><p><strong>AN: The End! Thank you all SO much for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing! I appreciate it so much. I plan to do another next year, don't worry. Until then...**

**DFTBA darlings, :)**


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